For Whom The Bell Tolls
by Womgi
Summary: Harry's trial after the Dementor incident goes quite a bit differently. Plots abound as Harry becomes Azkaban's latest guest. Fate has derailed and it's not all for the better. But then, when has Harry ever wanted to be fate's plaything?
1. For Whom The Bell Tolls

Maybe a one shot, maybe a fic….read AN at the end.

Xxx

Arthur Weasley and a Harry Potter approached the ministry welcome desk without much worry.

"You'll need to hand your wand over. It's a security thing."

Harry shrugged. As long as he could return to Hogwarts, he would do cartwheels if they wanted him to.

Harry pulled out his wand and began to move it towards the desk.

"WAND!"

The cry came up from somewhere in the unusually sparse crowd around them. Both Harry and Arthur were unable to react before a wall of red stunners hit them. Harry, being of the more youthful physiology, managed a brief betrayed look before his body arced backwards and landed on his side, cracking his head and breaking his right arm. Arthur was blissfully unconscious before his body even began its impromptu flight.

Grim faced Aurors quickly floated them off before reassuring the public that everything was fine. The public outside the atrium that is. There was not one individual in actual sight of the incident who had not known of the confrontation, and the result of it.

One specific individual in this lot checked that everything was over and quickly headed off to the courtroom.

Fudge was the only one left there. He was waiting for the end of the event and wanted to make sure that everything was going right. He had a role to play today, so he walked himself through just why he had to do this.

For too long, Dumbledore has held sway over the Wizarding World. So much power, and he wasn't even minister! No, if Fudge wanted to get the power the minister was supposed to have, he had to get rid of the biggest opponents he would have. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore. It had been simple enough. First, he used the Daily Prophet to malign their names, until the public could associate their names only with the foolish and insane. Next, he had directly attacked the weaker of the two. The whole plan was a bit of a risk, but a wand works wonders in "persuading" the small minded. His Under Secretary, such a loathsome creature she was, but loyal all the same. Delores had not taken much to influence, and had quickly and dutifully sent Dementors to the boy's house. And just as planned, the Gryffindor fool had dutifully obliged with a spell. Potter was magically powerful, but he was no Slytherin. Dumbledore had swept in of course, but that was the whole point. A staged arrest and it would all come together perfectly. Now the boy was looking even more guilty, the old man had burnt more of his bridges, and in the public eye, it would just look like more insanity from the pair. Still the Dementors were an inspired choice. Delores may have been onto something, even if her continuing ranting about creatures had long become tiresome.

The door swung open and an auror rushed in excitedly.

"Minister! We got him. He's in holding cell 4. We put the other one in cell 17. They won't see each other in any way."

Fudge lit up in triumph. The auror puffed up a bit, aware that it only spelled good news. But almost immediately, Fudge's eyes narrowed.

"Excellent! And Dumbledore is not here?"

"Not yet minister. Nobody seen him in the atrium."

"All the better. Who came in with the boy?"

"Arthur, from Misuse. He's Dumbledore's man, but not a bad sort."

"Yes, a shame that. A pureblood like him... I trust that he is not harmed?"

"Oh no minister! Just a couple of stunners that one. The boy though, he's probably cracked his fool skull. Definitely broken his arm proper. You know how it is minister, when the boys saw a wand, blink o' an eye and then t'was done."

"I dare say it was, yes. And one more thing Dawlish... Potter was resisting, you understand?"

The use of his name was enough to emphasize the point. This one was useful like that, Fudge mused..

"Minister?... Oh-Oh right! Of course he was, by Merlin! It was just like you said, Minister. Mad one, that lad!"

"Right you are! Get the boy to Azkaban. I've arranged it with the Warden. Hooded at all times you understand? Nobody sees him! I will not have Dumbledore snatching him just because he is Albus Bleeding Dumbledore!"

Fudge spat that last word as if it was a curse. He took a breath and calmed down. No point in getting all worked up at the very moment of his victory. As the auror left, he took off his bowler hat and smiled. It was a long road to get here, and even with all the unpleasantness and backstabbing involved, he couldn't say he regretted it. Some of the things he had done, sure. But the end result was all the more sweeter. Yes. It was good to be Cornelius Fudge.

Xxx

Arthur Weasley looked out from his holding cell in trepidation. He had woken up here a while back, but nothing had happened yet. All he could do was think about what happened earlier. There had been a flash and then nothing. His eyes narrowed yet again.

There was trouble afoot, and it was not going to be a little one. He had not seen Harry at all after he woke up, and he had no clue what was going on. Nobody had come by and he didn't even know what time it was. The Minister had made a play of some kind, he thought. Something was happening. Maybe, they were holding the trial with Harry all alone? No, He mustn't think like that. It would be all right.

The thought kept rolling in his head. He wondered what his family clock would say of this, would it show "Mortal Peril" or just "Work"? Not that it mattered. Dumbledore would set it right. He always did.

As he looked at the guard and the empty cells around him, he repeated it in his mind. Dumbledore would set it right. He just had to.

Xxx

Albus Dumbledore swept into an empty courtroom with a feeling of trepidation. It had been a feeling, a very faint but irksome feeling that had prompted him to arrive slightly before the summons indicated. However the atmosphere on arriving here was an all too ominous one. If even the atrium was full of people chattering away about the boy who lived was any indication. Yes, something had gone wrong. And when he had put words to those uneasy feelings of his, he had felt it in his bones, that moment after he had stepped into the unlit courtroom. Something had gone very wrong.

He marched furiously in search of his quarry. His anger was at a level he had rarely reached since his youth. His Sister's fate had made him angry, yes. But after that, even Gellerts little war had not made him angry. Not even young Tom could have brought forth this, not even as he slaughtered his way through the crème of the light. No, it was one thing to declare war, it was one thing to be driven mad by the darkness and commit inhuman acts, that was worth his pity. But this act of betrayal? For it was betrayal indeed. To turn his back upon his oaths, to commit this travesty upon a mere child for mere political gain? No, words could not contain his fury. No, this was wrath, a roiling storm of emotion that spilled into his magical presence and frightened everyone in and out of his path. None stood in his way. For this was not the Headmaster of Hogwarts. This was Albus "Ajax" Dumbledore, Commander of the Second Wizarding Army of Albion, Warrior of the Crimson Wand, Vanquisher of Grindelwald, and true warlock.

Quite a few old timers in the Ministry building reflexively sprung to attention as a familiar feeling made itself known.

And Albus found himself tempted. In this moment, he was so sorely tempted. It was almost funny that it was Cornelius of all people who would fray his control. How many light spells could be used to torture and kill? How easily could he, with his not inconsiderable strength, simply transfigure the minister to his namesake as a snack? Or maybe he could use a simple light spell to permanently burn out the eyes of the already blind fool? Or perhaps a _Scourgify_ , applied at sufficient strength to slowly scour flesh from bone? Or better still, a summoning charm, to summon that black heart out of its ill willed shell? Yes, his old friend in Nurmengard may have drowned in the darkness, but he had never lost his fiendish cleverness.

When Dumbledore reached the Minister's office, what entered the room was not a man. It was a caricature of power. With glowing eyes and billowing robes, there was nothing genial about this old man. His normally comical sky blue robes with silver stars and moons had turned a menacing black and red. His whole form was shadowed, and thin wisps of magic floated unbidden around him, sucking the very light out of the air. A wrathful wizard was not a pretty picture.

But through it all, Minister Fudge sat unconcerned. Certainly, he was sweating from the sheer amount of magic in the room. And undoubtedly, he was almost at the point of losing bladder and bowel control. But his serene smile did not drop. And his posture remained unconcerned, atavistic responses notwithstanding. Yes, he even had the audacity to smirk.

"Ah Chief Warlock, please…take a seat."

Dumbledore's magical presence simply doubled. His form shrunk into a shadow with two narrowed blazing eyes. But nonetheless, he sat. Some manners at least, he would keep. Even if his wand was spitting sparks . And the Elder Wand in this state was never a good thing. But he was beyond caring.

"Would you like some tea? I understand you are fond of Sherbet Lemons, but I only have tea here myself."

Dumbledore glared at the man. Why the sheer gall!

" _Cornelius_ " He grit out. "Where is the boy?"

The Minister poured himself a cup of tea and thoughtfully sipped, not paying attention to the explosion-in-the-shape-of-man before him.

"He's in Azkaban of course. Very serious case that. Underage magic use in front of a muggle, drawing a wand in front of an officer of the law, resisting arrest! Why, I had no other choice, as the duly elected servant of the Wizarding World that I am…" And here his smile turned geefully malicious. "Yes, I had him sent to Azkaban, into the same cell that Sirius Black once stayed before the traitor escaped. Fitting don't you think?"

Dumbledore slowly raised his bowed head. His wrath was truly the stuff of legends now. His wand slowly pointed at the head of the still gleeful fool he asked, both honestly curious and for some hint of justification. His words thrummed with power, but his tone was now conversational.

"And what makes you think that after all of this, you will live past today? I have already fought two Dark Lords and vanquished one. You are many things Cornelius, but my equal you are not. SO please tell me, what makes you think that I will allow this travesty to stand? He is just a child!"

Fudge relaxed into his chair. He looked at the great and terrible wizard and smiled happily.

"Because Dumbledore, if I die now, Potter's cell will open. If I am harmed in any way by you, Potter's cell will open. If I do not send regular owls with secret passwords to the Warden, Potter's cell will open. If you go within three miles of Azkaban, Potter's cell will open. If any of a number of things you undoubtedly plan to do happens…" Fudge snapped his fingers. "…Potter's cell will open... And the guards of Azkaban will find themselves one soul richer."

Dumbledore froze.

"You can plot and plan all you like Dumbledore. The only reason Potter still has a soul... is that I will it. If I no longer will it? Well, I suppose you will have to find another precious Chosen One, won't you."

"Cornelius….to sink this low…" Dumbledore croaked from his dry throat. His wrath was gone. All he felt was blank.

"I will sink that low, and lower still. Don't think I am blind Dumbledore. All those positions of power and and a Minister to play like a fiddle? Yes, I figured out your little game. And the moment you think that I slipped my leash, you _resurrect_ that Dark Lord of yours. Very convenient is it not? How long have you been planning this Dumbledore? Five years? Ten? Sitting in that castle, indoctrinating our children…The only Dark Lord in the world right now is you!"

Dumbledore himself looked astonished. Not that Fudge would let it fool him.

"I will tear down your power Dumbledore. I am not letting your schemes destroy the Wizarding Britain I love and serve. And now I have the linchpin of your plot, your greatest pawn in my grasp. I am not letting him become a queen. Oh no!"

Dumbledore idly wondered when the idiot had become so paranoid and deluded. This was the sort of things twitchy muggleborns thought up. His wrath had disappeared, replaced by weariness. He was not dealing with a dark madman. No, this one was just a deluded madman. But he was no less dangerous than before he started ranting. Still, he had to at least answer some of this, for his own peace of mind, and to try and inject some sanity.

"I have never sought power Cornelius. It was the public that forced these titles upon me. Save for Headmaster, I was not the one who chose myself for those positions."

Fudge was unfortunately not convinced.

"But that's what you want them to think! You have pawns everywhere…your allies, your servants, your little vigilante group….I see so much now Dumbledore…and I can only be afraid of what I do not."

Were Harry not caught up in this, Dumbledore would have bent the nincompoop over his knee and caned him raw.

"And if I was this malicious mastermind you claim I am, I would have no qualms of sacrificing Harry and killing you anyway...and I have not! You must see reason Cornelius!"

Fudge shook his head.

"No Dumbledore, even now you think me foolish. I am not like them" He vaguely gestured above "I can see through that mask of yours. You will not break character, I would admire you just for that. No doubt even that display earlier was calculated for maximum effect, reminding everyone that you are more than an old man. But I will not be cowed by your power 'Ajax'!"

Dumbledore frowned. "I do not like that name because that was a different me. You who have not fought in war cannot imagine what it was like. Even Voldemort is nothing but an irritant compared to fighting a real war."

Fudge shook his head, even after being shaken by the use of that name.

"No Dumbledore. You have lost. You cannot persuade me with your pretty words and twisting logics. Even in your twilight days you cling so tenaciously to power. I will not allow you to turn this Ministry into a mockery. No one man can be the Wizarding World Dumbledore, not me not you. But at least the people choose the Minister. No Dumbledore, leave peacefully…keep your dignity. Today your plans are thwarted. The Wizarding World is free from your grasp for another day."

Dumbledore sighed. He had planned for many things. But the Minister going insane and paranoid was not something he had even imagined was possible. No, Cornelius was right in a sense. He had lost today.

"Very well Cornelius, if you have become so afraid of my so called scheming that you must gamble with a boy's soul, I will not press this. I had though you malicious, not insane. Please, I beg you, see reason! I will return Cornelius. Things are not as dire as you make them! I am so sorry that you feel this way. At least let Harry go! I beg you, do not persecute an innocent!"

Fudge shook his head.

"No Dumbledore, Harry in Azkaban is the only leverage I have. The moment he is released, I will conveniently 'die of natural causes'. Do not think me naïve. As long as I am minister, as long as I am the one in this position you seek to control, I must have some guarantee of my safety. And you will not drop your mask even now, away from the public or eavesdroppers. That is how I know how dangerous you are. That is why I must keep Potter in Azkaban."

Dumbledore shook his head at the circular logic but didn't bother arguing the point. The Minister would get the care he needs, he vowed. If the Janus Thickey ward was his fate, so be it, but he could only pity this man. It could even be a plot by Tom, some form of paranoia or dementia inducing magic. Who knew what new and insidious dark magic that boy had cooked up? He would have to consult Severus. He looked at the Minister, who was still grinning widely and shook his head. He could now only pray for Harry. As he left the Minister's office, he saw Lucius Malfoy waiting outside. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he left. Was this a sign?

Xxx

After sending off even Lucius after a lot of talking, Cornelius Fudge relaxed into his comfortable chair and yawned. A glass of Ogden's Finest kept him company. Success deserved it's pwn reward.

Today was an exciting day all told. He had outmaneuvered some of the most powerful men he knew. Fudge reveled in it. He had played second fiddle to them for so long that acting on his own initiative was quite the revelation. He savored the giddy feeling a little more before taking a sip from his glass.

He was now a power in his own right. Even if people still called him Dumbledore's shadow or Lucius's lapdog, he did not care. Let the public have their delusions, as long as they voted for him of course. Not that were not advantages to all those rumors. Poor Cornelius Fudge, who bent to whoever had power. Poor Cornelius Fudge who was perfect because he would do what was asked of him. Poor Cornelius Fudge who everyone who supported anyone voted for, because he could be "persuaded" support their agenda. Well, who was "poor" Cornelius Fudge now?

He had convinced Dumbledore that he was insane and so, dangerous; he had convinced Lucius that he stubbornly believed himself clever and so, dangerous. He was now the most dangerous man in Britain as far as the most "powerful" people were concerned. He giggled a little.

He really didn't care if there was a Dark Lord or not. He knew the type. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might have returned, he might not. Lucius may have rejoined his little rabble of misfits, he may not. As long as stability was maintained, he did not care. For now, if he was alive, the Dark Lord was staying silent. No doubt this was part of some bizarrely complicated plan. And if Lucius's desperation was any indication, he might really be back.

Not that it changed anything of course. He was only here for two more years. After that, he had his own private island in the tropics to retire to. Really, why was Lucius so desperate to be the power behind the throne, that he had to give the "Fudge Re-election Campaign" a fortune and a half? His wife Maragret, bless her soul, had died years ago, still childless, from drinking improperly brewed potion. He really had nothing to tie him here. He did not care for legacies, as much as he pretended otherwise. So all that was left was to quietly disappear. If the Dark Lord did turn up, well, He had plans for that also.

Fudge drank his Firewhiskey and tucked himself in for the night. He slept happily and with pleasant dreams. After all, he just loved it when a plan comes together.

AN:

First, I didn't include the malfoy scene because it never came out right. It would have been referenced in a later chapter though.

Anyway...

Yes, I'm back! Somewhat anyway. I got bored a few months back and started experimenting with this before I stopped. A few days ago I was just idly flipping through my files and this seemed to get my muse running, so I polished it a bit. Still don't have a beta….but that's you find any errors, please pm me and I'll correct them. Thanks in advance!

As to what I was doing...

I was mostly just rewriting random, because of gundam fanboying, and I was going in maybe three four directions to see what clicked. I'm still mostly just exploring what I can do there, while trying to avoid having OP protagonist steamroll everything. It'll work out….probably. And it will have proper chapters!

Mask of War is on indefinite Hiatus. I'm just totally drained of inspiration there. I can't help it. I had such great ideas, and then real life caught up. Now every time I try to pick it up again, memories raise their ugly head….so I'm sorry about that.

Of Wands and Kunai I'm actually considering rewriting, with far fewer OCs and no more Cthul-mione (yes that's what I call her in my head…I'm crazy) Probably a far slower power gain on harry's part also. But it's still ideas now. And I'm not sure if I should begin at all. My first published fic….bad as it was, it was a milestone for me.

This itself was an idea for a merc-harry fic I had. It would have been betrayed harry becoming escaped harry(Dobby power!) becoming who-gives-a-f*#k harry who gets pulled back into the war….yeah there was actually a detailed plot and chapter summaries(9 out of maybe 10~12 of them) and stuff of which this was the first. But then I realized that this would also be a good one shot and completed the first chapter accordingly. Not sure whether to continue as a fic or leave it as a one shot. Because really, I kind of like how this Fudge turned out. I'm not sure I want to overshadow him with Harry. Or maybe a separate fic starting from the end of this? Decisions decisions.

Anyway, like always, reviews are very much appreciated. I may not be very quick to respond to reviews as I am almost at the end of a three month internship and I have reports to worry about, But all reviews are definitely appreciated. (Except flames, but you knew that)

Depending on the response to this, I may continue or not. So I'm leaving it in your hands. I can't give regular updates even if I continue this, but as it actually has something of a plan behind it, it might only be a month or so between chapters….as opposed to the year/year and a half that was my final few OWaK updates.

So that's about it folks. Please remember to review!

This is Womgi signing off.

*Plays Cowboy Bebop: Real Folk Blues*


	2. Jail House Blues

Disclaimer: In case it is not already clear, simply posting my stories here should make it clear. How much I do not own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Dementors, Bad Memories, Madness, Bad Omake

Harry Potter woke up in pain.

It was not the first time, and given his history it would not be the last; but having this happen barely a few months after the last time, and without any quidditch at any point only emphasized the fact.

But he persevered.

His right arm seemed a bit off. And his head was all but murdering him. It was then that the smell hit him, that he knew for sure. Something was wrong. He opened his eyes to darkness. Was it night? No he wasn't outside, air was too stale for that.

And in even the darkest nights you saw the stars or clouds.

The floor was stone though, a rough grating surface that cut into his skin. The stale feeling in the air intensified and was suddenly replaced by a biting cold. It was an all too familiar feeling. In an instant all his lethargy, all his tiredness was gone. His hand whipped out and he cried out

"EXPECTO PATRONEM!"

But no comforting light appeared, no Patronus. And it was then that he felt terror settle into his bones. He blanched, for he realized that he had no wand. Dementors, no wand and a stone room was an all too ominous recipe. The iron bars that were even now blurring in his sight confirmed it.

He was now in Azkaban.

Like a flashback, he was suddenly aware of all the little details that had been missed till now. There was the howling of the wind as it passed through ancient battlements, the faint and distant screeches and screams of long maddened prisoners. Even the way his body shivered in the freezing cold was now something he was far too aware of. He didn't like it. He was not supposed to be here. Even if he was found guilty, he was supposed to have his wand snapped, not be arrested! Why was this happening to him? Was this because he couldn't save Cedric? Was it because of Voldemort? Was it even because of, Merlin forbid...the Dursleys? No. Clarity of thought came swiftly. Half remembered memories came crawling back to him.

It was Fudge.

But even as his thoughts coalesced into something coherent, a Dementor approached his cell. A guttural scream began to loosen his lips.

 _"Not Harry!"_

 _"Wands out you reckon?"_

 _" She won't wake"_

 _"WAND!"_

And he not so blissfully passed out.

Wakefulness came like ice water dumped on his head.

He took a moment to reorient himself as he remembered just what it was that Dementors usually did. He cursed. He didn't know how long he was passed out. He didn't know how long he was going to be here. He didn't even know what he could do. All he could do was hunker down and try to salvage whatever memories he could. Sirius may have survived it, but he was an animagus and innocent and he _still_ came out missing half his sanity.

Xxx

Prison changes a man. Harry wondered if that was said with him in mind. But then, the originator of that saying could not have known about the depressing soul sucking creatures that took such perverse amusement in staying near his cell.

It was not the first time that he could think clearly, after he realized that he was trapped in this place. Time had definitely passed. His skin was bleached and pale. His lips cracked and scabbed. His throat would not let him scream if he wanted to. Truly, Harry was in a pitiable state.

Dementors came and went with annoying irregularity. There was no actual window in this cell, just an odd, ancient air vent. There was no way to tell the time. Years could have passed. How could one be sure? Meals were few and as irregular as the Dementors themselves. It always appeared when he was unconscious, probably because a Dementor delivered it. It was always a grey sludge of some kind. But then, he had long known that when you are truly starving, even the occasional skittering cockroach begins to look appetizing. While the Dursleys somehow avoided pushing him to that point, here his lament was that there were no insects. He could use the flavor.

He looked at his waste bucket, the only piece of magic he had actually seen in here. It irregularly vanished his bodily wastes, always letting it fester first. Harry occasionally took the time to muse that he didn't have much waste to bother with. There was not enough food, and the only water he knew was near the right wall. It dripped from the roof into a hole in the floor. Drinking involved lying down under the drip and leaving his mouth open. It tasted horrible.

Perhaps worse were the memories. Harry did not have much in the way of happy memories. And the Dementors had gleefully pulled out each one. Was this what Sirius had to go through? He could not remember too much of Hogwarts. Not in this place where happiness went to die. He licked his cracked lips with a dry tongue for the umpteenth time, a wasted action, but one he did none the less. He wondered if Sirius had done this. He wondered if Barty Crouch Jr. has done it. But he did not wonder more, as he was interrupted by more Dementors.

Xxx

He was aware again. How many years had gone? He was still alive. Dying, perhaps, but still alive. He wondered what everyone was doing. He wondered what their names were. Everything was getting a bit foggy.

He had two friends didn't he?

And weasels? He was sure he liked weasels for some reason.

But not ferrets. Oh no, you really had to watch out for ferrets.

Why?

Nevermind why! He could hate ferrets even without knowing why!

And there were some twin red weasels.

Why were they twins? Or red?

He had given them… something?

Yes... Sometime before he had been tossed in here. He had been generous. He helped the world laugh.

But laughing was bad. Laughing made the visitors come.

Why was he calling them visitors?

Visitors, now there's a laugh.

And it was all because he got tossed in here.

Yes, tossed in here by a pastry.

Wasn't that right? No?

Tossed in by a treacle tart? He loved treacle tart. The treacle tart obviously couldn't do this to him.

No... A pie? Did a pie do this? Pies were evil and boring. Especially pumpkin pie.

They were head of the pumpkin conspiracy. Why even his school was full of them.

What school was it? Oh, it wasn't important.

Maybe a marshmellow? Looking all white like that. Just like the ferret. And they melted too.

Ha! A bit of heat would melt him right out, yes it would.

Wait, what was he thinking about?

No…It was on the tip of his tongue. If only his brain wasn't so sluggish.

Or was it sludgeish?

He made a funny!

Like that person he was supposed to remember. Now that was hilarious!

Corny sludge? Something like that. Sounds disgusting though. Sludge with corn In it? Really disgusting!

Something like...corny fudge. Yes, that was it, wasn't it?

But why would you put corn in fudge?

His jaw dropped as something clicked into place.

Memory snapped into place like a bombarda hitting stone. (He should know. He'd tried it!)

CORNELIUS FUDGE!

Yes. _He_ was the one who placed him here. _He_ was the one who had decided that Harry was a liar. _He_ had done all of this. Fudge was why he was here, here without Ron and Hermione; here that was not Hogwarts; here where he was not able to do a damn thing other than get his happiness ripped from him daily and become more emaciated with each passing minute.

He had a life! He was Harry James Potter and he was a living human being. He was going to have his vengeance as soon as he could figure it out. He muttered under his breath. And was promptly greeted by a swooping Dementor outside his cell. His eyes rolled backward, his mouth gurgled and he fell backward, almost into a faint. The Dementor gave an experimental inhale, and then passed on.

But even Dementors could not suck out hatred and rage. Because hating? That wasn't a happy thought. And neither was vengeance. Oh no, because all the happy time was gone before Azkaban.

So it was to those emotions that he clung, like a drowning man clutches his last wisp of breath. Yes...vengeance was the answer. He would cling to it and prosper. What had forgiveness done for him? His parents were dead. His friends were vague recollections at this point. The Dursleys were something he would work his way towards. Trusting Dumbledore was what had gotten him here. And FUDGE (!) was at the top of his list. Right above Voldemort.

Harry giggled. The Dementors took no notice.

Xxx

Weeks, months and years. It was a meaningless set of words. There was only awake and unconscious. But Harry cared for none of that. He was counting down the days in his head. Not that he knew if what he was counting were days, or if he was actually counting at all. It was not like he could say with any certainty when he was tossed in here. But then, deriving a dark humor in guessing when he'd snap and turn into an insane psychopath was apparently not the kind of happiness the Dementors could really suck up. He could even resist their aura for short times through sheer willpower. There was something satisfying in seeing a Dementor hesitate when facing his increasingly bloodthirsty grins. It wouldn't be long now. It didn't actually matter how long it took. Once he could stop passing out in the presence of Dementors, he could focus on getting out of here. He may not exactly have a plan now, but then he was never the planning type. He would have to change that of course, but for now, he was focused on getting out of here.

He stared at the Dementor outside his cell with a grin, imagining all the horrible things he could do to it. When he was imagining drowning the foul creature in boiling chocolate, he thought the thing actually shuddered. The very idea was humorous. The feeling was gone instantly, but this time, the Dementor actually retreated. Apparently, there was such a thing as floating away in haste. The feeling of amusement was ripped from him instantly. Even when fleeing the creatures were robbing him of happiness.

Suddenly his mind latched upon something. Even when depriving him of his happiness, he was able to stay awake. He was no longer fainting like he used to. He realized suddenly, in the grip of epiphany, that he was now becoming used to completely lacking happiness. As the next Dementor arrived to sample his emotions, Harry began to laugh, a cracked and hoarse sound lacking any positive emotion whatsoever.

Xxx

Harry was muttering. It was not exactly Harry Potter behavior, but it was Harry Potter, Prisoner of Azkaban behavior. He was simply reliving his life. There is some saying or another about your life flashing before your eyes before you die. But usually you do not get the opportunity to relive your life when you are about to die. No, it is when you are alone and abandoned that you have the time and inclination to go about reliving all the details you can remember of your life till now. So that was what Harry was doing. He was remembering and reminiscing about the little hell hole is life had been till now.

It was cathartic in a way and depressing in another, but it was one thing above all others and that was not boring. Looking through his life through this introspective mood was doing wonders for his ability to not get bored. Now that he was able to tolerate if not ignore the presence of Dementors outside his cell, he now had to find a way of passing the time that did not involve passing out. There was no Ron to play chess. No Oliver to force quidditch practice. No Hermione nagging him to do an essay. There were no twins to distract him with pranks. There was no Malfoy to try and annoy him. It was utterly and mind numbingly boring. Which was maybe why he was ranting hoarsely.

"...and there was that time before second year of course...bloody wankers...bloody riddle...and not to mention bloody Dobby-"

POP!

Harry Potter blinked stupidly at his new companion. His glasses, having long disappeared might have let him get a good look at the face. But the stature and the riot of colors and the way the fuzzy blob in his vision was jumping while chattering like a squirrel on a caffeine high could only mean one thing. Harry thought for a moment and solemnly intoned "Cornelius Fudge".

"Damn…"

Harry was coherent enough to feel disappointed as he managed to confirm that no, simply saying somebody's name did not summon them to his location to allow a suitable vengeance. He turned his attention to the elf who had at one point, _almost_ killed him for the express purpose of saving his life. Not that he moved. Crazy people were like predators. If you moved you could set them off.

"-andDobbyishappythat greatwizardHarryPotter(!)isstillaliveandiscallingDobbyandDobbyisveryverygladtobehelpingthe greatwizardHarryPotter(!)and...and...the great wizard Harry Potter(!) is fainting and not is listening to Dobby anymore…."

There was a long moment where both occupants of the cell stayed motionless.

"Bad Dobby! Bad!"

After hitting the walls with his disproportionate head a few times and poking himself in the eye (twice!) for good measure, Dobby nodded to himself and carefully nudged the youngest prisoner of Azkaban to see if he would wake. Without thinking, he snapped his fingers to get the boy to a more comfortable place. His first impulse was to go to Hogwarts so that was where they appeared, an abandoned classroom.

Dobby stared at the pile of unhealthy wizard and then his fingers in distracted awe.

"Dobby be thinking that saving the great wizard Harry Potter be working lots better this time"

Xxx

Recently escaped prisoner Harry Potter was not very aware when he woke up again. So he took a little while to realize that he was actually not in Azkaban; that this was actual furniture and not a Dementor induced hallucination. The bulbous eyes of the house elf staring into his face helped, because none of his hallucinations had been remotely as horrifying.

There was conversation of course, but with his body in the severely malnourished condition that it was in, it was stilted and severely lacking in coherence. Once Harry managed to get to a semblance of normalcy, the two of them were finally able to communicate, as opposed to having two conversations which made no sense to either of them.

Still, allowing for the insanity of it all, Harry managed to cover his gratitude and Dobby conveyed his state of excitement over saving his... Hero? Idol? Messiah? He really couldn't be sure.

In the end it took eight days for the hyperactive elf to help the boy transform into something above concentration camp victim. But that was okay. Because Dobby was a good elf and this was the great wizard Harry Potter. And Dobby also made the bad wizards think that the great wizard Harry Potter was still in Azkaban. Because Dobby was a good elf and good elves protect the great wizard Harry Potter from bad wizards who threw great wizards into bad prison cells. Dobby wrinkled his nose. Bad prison cells that smell of mold and poop, he added.

Xxx

On the 12th of February, 1996, Harry Potter woke up with a grimace. He felt tired, he felt hollow and he was empty. But he was still alive and he was mildly angry.

He was spent.

His arms took effort to raise and he felt untold years settled upon his frame. But that was okay, because he was alive and free. He was free to wreak havoc and vengeance and then wring the necks of those bastards who had put him in Azkaban to rot.

Of course, vengeance and murder and the fury of a thousand suns was not exactly Gryffindor material.

Or maybe it was? It certainly wasn't Slytherin material. Or Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw for that matter. School felt so long ago, and so utterly childish. There was no point in all those silly games. House points, Quidditch…why had he bothered again? Oh right, because his father was supposedly a model Gryffindor, and he was supposed to be the sequel to that story. Unfortunately he had no swear words to express his feelings about that. His…"sheltered" education was to blame for that.

He reflected on his life with a frown. Prison had managed to make him older. But had it made him wiser? He was by now much more "dark" than Dumbledore approved of. He wondered if this was how Sirius felt when he escaped; all rage and vengeance on real and imagined enemies.

His own options were bleak. He had no wand, he was an escaped criminal and he did not even have an animagus form to hide in. All he had was a loyal and most likely psychotic house elf. But then again, it seemed the sneaky bugger had silently attached himself to him and been quite distraught when he had disappeared. It had somehow explained the poor fellows (now much reduced) unfortunate tendency to add titles to his name. But Dobby had saved him hadn't he? All his so called friends and the adults he was supposed to go to and in the end, help had come from the one part of his life he had considered a nuisance.

He sighed and put his face in his hands. Here he was, sitting in new pajamas next to the overly elaborate bed that Dobby had rustled up. It seemed so pointless. All this magic. It had made him an orphan and put him in Hell on Earth. And now even that wand of his was missing. Magic, was frankly a hassle.

Unfortunately, magic was also very useful.

It could do extraordinary things, and more to the point, his enemies used magic. He chuckled grimly, thinking back to the past, to all the things he had been so enamored of. All this magic. But no, it wasn't actually magic that had soured everything was it? It was the wizarding world. An important distinction. Magic, he was glad of. Wizards, he found himself not so glad of.

"Dobby."

"Yes Harry Potter Sir!"

Excellent. He was not slipping back to his previous manner.

"What would I have to do if I wanted to leave all this behind? Leave the magical world to rot? Where could I go if I wanted to? Someplace they couldn't find me, I think…"

Dobby looked like he was thinking really hard, or constipated before he beamed at the teen.

"Dobby thinks that the best place that Harry Potter Sir nots be found is underwater!"

Harry blinked, confused.

"You mean I'm supposed to live under the Black Lake?"

Dobby shook his head furiously.

"No no! Harry Potter sir is not understanding. Wizarding magic for searching is not working well under the oceans. Dobby heard bad master say that even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could not be finding Atlantis….. because oceans be blocking spells and rituals!"

Harry took long seconds to process this. A small part of his mind grimly pointed out that even when he was trying to forsake the wizarding world, he had automatically thought of Hogwarts and its lake first. However the other part, that was going into wider tangents.

To Wizarding Britain, Voldemort was a Dark Lord. This meant many things according to many different people and books. It meant that he had followers. It meant that he was espousing a cause in direct opposition to the current legal government. It meant that he had the resources to sustain an armed campaign against said government. It also meant that he was capable of outright defeating, or at least matching the most capable combatants on the side of the opposing combat forces. But Voldemort was also special in another way. His followers were purebloods. Consequently, he had access to pureblood wealth and pureblood magic. Meticulously preserved tomes that were hoarded from before men had wands; magics lost in time for being too weak, or too strong; accounts of hundreds of scholars, each a glimpse into the world of magic, and together something more; all of it was acknowledged to be his to peruse and abuse as he willed. For him to be unable to look under the sea….

"Dobby, I think I have a plan"

Xxx

Lucius Malfoy approached his own house with a great deal of trepidation. This was not a good day to be a Malfoy.

In his expensive robes, and with his overly ostentatious cane, he cut a sharp figure. He was the elite of Wizarding society, his robes said. Yet when he reached his sprawling mansion, he immediately exchanged them for the much cheaper and utilitarian Death Eater robes. He was a madman's servant, these robes said.

He walked into the throne room without his mask. In this house, he was without anything that could hide his identity. He was the Dark Lord's servant. There was no escape from that. The moment that the Dark Mark had come back into prominence on his arm, his path was clear, his fate was sealed. And now, after a decade and a half of consolidating his power, becoming a person who was in his own way Dumbledore's only real opponent, he was now reduced to minion and bootlicker. But Lucius did not think such things. For the Dark Lord peers into the minds of his servants as if they were open books.

So Lucius did not think such things. He did not think about how his beautiful mansion had been defiled by this caricature of a monster. He did not think about the tragedy his family would endure in _his_ service. He definitely did not think about how Dumbledore's not too distant and inevitable passing would have made him the only power in Wizarding Britain. And he absolutely did not think about his regret. Because Lucius was a loyal servant of his lord. Lucius Malfoy was a true Death Eater. And only true Death Eaters lived after meeting the Dark Lord.

The room he entered was a simple yet large room. It was dark and barely lit, allowing the Dark Lord to not only hide his face in the shadows, but also because as he was now, the Dark Lord did not need his room to be well lit. The "throne" was a transfigured painting. A Malfoy ancestor who had not been very impressed at the latest Dark Lord. A lesson in manners, _he_ had said.

The walls were bare, but the room still housed a few statues, some of magical creatures, some of famous wizards. The once guest bedroom had been converted into this with just two spells. Lucius had seen the message all too clear. "You are my servant, that I may treat your possessions so. And you are weak, that you cannot challenge my will." At the time, Lucius had only felt fear and awe. The rest of his complex feelings came much, much later.

He thought of none of this of course. He could not get distracted when he was in the presence of the Dark Lord. Yet his movements betrayed no fear no turmoil. His Lord already knew it all. But perhaps a corner of his mind whispered, he did not know of the why, and that was why he still lived.

" _Lucius_ " The voice hissed. " _Tell_ _me_."

And Lucius spilled his tale. There was no need for instruction here. This was not a conversation, or even an interrogation. This was Lucius Malfoy spilling anything and everything with but the hope that his words would stave off torture or death.

His words were not good news.

Fudge had initially been only too ecstatic to listen to his words about Potter's and Dumbledore's lies. Even the scheme to render Potter helpless through that farce of a trial was inspired and met his approval. However, the so called "meek Minister" had then thoroughly slipped his leash. In a whirlwind of a day, he had turned any plans that anyone had into rubbish. Whatever plan Dumbledore had that involved the boy was undoubtedly in tatters. But worse still was what Fudge had unwittingly accomplished; the Dark Lord's own plans, ones that apparently involved Potter were also now thwarted.

He had also explained the rest of course. Fudge was now completely deluded. Somehow, his unfortunately successful scheme had made him supremely confident. He absolutely refused to move the Potter boy out of Azkaban. Apparently, he had set up some leverage on Dumbledore that involved Potter being in his cell, and Dumbledore rendered incapable of acting against him. As he had proudly crowed, Fudge was now the safest man in the wizarding world. Thus, for now at least, there was no possible way of getting Potter out of Azkaban. And with what had happened, the Dark Lord might even have to avoid freeing his most loyal Death Eaters. Because an attack on Azkaban would also eliminate Potter before he could be taken from the prison.

Even as he spoke, he could feel the Dark Lords thoughts growing darker. He had yet to move a muscle, but there was no doubt that the Dark Lord was displeased. Lucius could only pray that he would be spared that wrath.

Still, the ridiculous sounding words still poured from his mouth. How Fudge had outsmarted Dumbledore….and of all things…the Dark Lord.

And that was the funny thing. After so long proclaiming that Potter was his to kill, Voldemort could not allow anything but his own wand to deal the finishing blow. If for some reason Potter was to die before that, well he couldn't let that happen could it?

But it was a moot point now. Lucius could only pray that he would survive. A hint of a tear gathered in his eyes. For all his power, he had been reduced to this, as powerless as any other victim of the Dark Lord. He wondered where his wife and son were before shelving the thought. In this persons service, he would do his best not to remind his lord about his precious people.

On the other side of the meeting, Voldemort simply seethed. This insect had somehow undone his entire plan for this next year. Manipulating Potter into doing the Dark Lords work would have been the… No, he mentally shook himself. There was no point in the what could have been. What he needed was to adapt to this new reality where Fudge(!) had become inadvertently competent. He would have to move forward without Potter, but he could not allow the boy to be killed either. Only he could do it. And he had to do it. To have Potter continue to live was a stain on his status as a Dark Lord. But to have Potter die by someone else's machinations would be catastrophic. One is known by the quality of his enemies also after all. While recruiting the Potter boy would have been a master stroke, right now, even that was impossible. He could not allow doubt to creep into anyone, the mindless sheep of the wizarding world, or even his own followers. How, he railed silently, had he been backed into a corner by a pustule of an imbecile like Fudge?!

He calmed himself with an effort. There was still ways to salvage this. There always was. The important thing was to both maintain control and give the appearance of it. Insanity was permitted in Dark Lords; failing was not. And losing the plot was not in the picture at all. For now he would wait. And he would see if Lucius could change that imbecile's mind. If not, well he was not unknown to have a plan or two in reserve. He always did.

He was the Dark Lord Voldemort and he would not be denied.

Xxx

Omake, inspired by one particular fic I can't remember the name of. Person who tells me gets a digital cookie. And I still can't write decent omake!

"Dobby, didn't you call me just Harry Potter last time we talked. You don't have to keep adding names or titles to what you call me. Just one was more than enough"

While Harry was of course, thinking of being called the Boy-Who-Lived, Dobby…wasn't.

Dobby looked ecstatic and fascinated at once. As if having an epiphany he spoke softly but purposefully.

"The great wizard Harry Potter is right. Dobby - Dobby is wrong. Harry Potter is just. He is Harry Potter _the just_."

Later that century, Harry would perform innumerable facepalms whenever this _title_ was brought up.

A/N: long rant ahead, skip it if you like!

Second chapter posted. 10/09/2016

I'm working on chapter 4 now actually. Decided not to leave it a one shot. It'll be fun to see if I can stick to my own half baked schedule. These days I'm spending a lot of time on alternate history forum, all alien space bats and isots that one. Lots of fun ideas there, though I can't actually use them in here. Also just finished a three month internship, going to buckle down for writing that report. Wish me luck!

Story wise, first appearance of Harry, an attempt has been made to characterize his going unhinged and back, not sure how successful that was. No fudge here, but he should make one more appearance later. For Lucy, I've trying for the still a pureblood, but regretting following voldy character. Dobby speaks a lot worse than he does in canon. He's done his own time in cuckoo land.

Anyway, Voldy is the one I'm trying to set up here. We'll be looking into the head of the not so chaotic dark lord for now. I'll be giving him plenty of focus as the villain. I love writing villains though I can never capture their insidiousness. Tom has such potential…I never got to really play with him in OWAK, so I'm taking the opportunity here. Next chapter includes a segment I like to call "inside a dark lord's head"….where I apply logic to some of the things that bugged me about the original books.

I find myself doing short chapters. Its odd. After my mammoth 10k+ word chapters, I feel oddly peeved when I reflect about it. Even if I'm actually working a lot of plot with it.

Next chapter I'm not sure when its getting posted. I'm soon going to be busy writing my report on 3 months in the textile industry! My college will definitely be there to remind me of that fact. Still, I hope to make enough time for this. I've not had a muse for a proper while now, so I'm grabbing on while it lasts.


	3. And Way Down We Go

Xxx

"He's been quiet for a while hasn't he Wallace?"

The two Aurors, suitably protected by Dementor repelling amulets, slowly walked through the high security wing without fear, but with just a hint of wariness. Even with their trinkets, Dementors were often called demons for a reason. The Auror spoke again, before Wallace could reply.

"He deserves it. This is the high security wing. He wouldn't be here if he didn't deserve it. Serves the bastard right it does. He deserves it…. He has to deserve it, right?"

But for now, looking at the catatonic form of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, splayed out pathetically in his traitorous Godfather's cell, it was enough to move the hearts of even the iron hearted men who guarded Azkaban.

"Don't think about it mate. You know what happens if you think too much about it."

The unnamed Auror paused and shuddered. Whatever else could be said of Wizarding Britain, those who interfered with the will of the people at the top were not known to lead long or fulfilling lives.

"I know. I know. But don't tell me you don't feel something when you see that?"

The other Auror shrugged.

"He's not the first, and he's not the last. Just as long as we're not next"

Neither noticed that the prisoner was not moving. They had already stopped paying attention to Harry Potter and the fact that he existed.

Xxx

" _You disappoint me Lucius!_ "

The Malfoy patriarch cringed from his position on the floor, kneeling on right foot, much as the ancient wizards were known to do so.

"My Lord! I-"

" _Excuses! Mere excuses! Why is it that I am reduced to the sight of you like this? Where was the Malfoy who promised the world to me? Where was that sliver of competence I once had the misfortune to indulge?!_ "

The Dark Lord paused

" _But then….Abraxan was a far more competent servant. Perhaps if I replace you with your offspring, your fathers traits may yet bleed through to the son."_

The sibilant tones washed over him furiously and he cringed again. Why did this have to happen to him? That cretin Fudge would pay for this, _if_ the Dark Lord could be relied upon to not kill him… or render him insane like the Longbottoms. And now he was bringing Draco into this. This was a disaster!

"My Lord! It is as you say. Fudge is still not willing to agree. He believes that somehow his success in this has made him more powerful than Dumbledore! Were that I could have flayed him where he stood! But I obeyed My Lord! I did as you asked, to keep our heads down. And save imperiusing him, I do not believe we can change his mind in this matter."

The Dark Lord waved aside his stammering and excuses once he finally dared to look up. The pale man looked thoughtful, an improvement over the incandescent rage that he had been showing earlier. He could only imagine how things were going to go now. A thoughtless wave of his hand and Lucius scurried away gratefully, the spectre of fear trailing behind him as he left.

Xxx

The Dark Lord sat on his white throne, alone and resplendent in his robes. His hand gripped his throne for a second and he was consumed in momentary fury. But he took an unnecessary breath and calmed down. There was no help for it.

Weeks.

It had been weeks since Potter had been eliminated from the game. It was a masterstroke to be sure, but not one of his own make. Who could have imagined that the useless imbecile Fudge could have thought up something of this import?

No, it was an impossible chance, and perhaps some madness brought forth from the same fount as had come that accursed prophesy. He grit his teeth in fury and snapped of a spell. A statue exploded, some undoubtedly priceless trinket that added to the lineage of his reticent, yet still transparent hosts.

Ah, Malfoys, what a peculiar set of pawns. It had been a few centuries since their line had drifted here from their French roots to "beloved" Britain and set down roots. Every generation since that first uprooted couple had been utterly devoted to the pursuit of enriching their position inside the magical community of the British Isles.

It was a humorous tale. How many people would remember what the Malfoys were originally? By modern standards, they were chivalrous knights, Gryffindor feudal nobility to the core. They were unusual for the time for preferring not to rape and pillage like their compatriots and living to their code of honor. Sadly, in the end, their improper judgment, their "bad faith" as they mournfully called it, had killed most of them in the end. They had trusted the wrong servant, and managed to reduce from a warrior clan of dozens into a few families totaling eleven, including kids that managed to escape to Britain. Abraxan had successfully politicked away much of their history and now they were admired by the Slytherins for their cunning and power.

Was it the greater irony, he wondered, that they were betrayed, or that they would in turn betray so many in future? After all the name Malfoy was a reference to the singular act of treachery that had led the broken family to Britain in the first place. It was a pledge, that they would forever be vigilant, forever on guard against "Bad Faith". And now a more Slytherin bunch could not be found.

But it was not the Malfoys that were his current source of…frustration. No, it was their unfortunately, and more to the point, unusually competent puppet. A puppet that thought for itself.

The creature once known as Tom rolled his wand in between his fingers and idly cast a _Reparo_ with a flick.

There was something to be said for competent minions, but that was only for when they were competent _for_ you. What had happened now was not in that same category. _There was no help for it of course._

He had rejoiced at first. How could he not? His greatest thorn removed from the auspices of its guardian and left to wilt under the care of hoarfrost, to be picked up at his leisure when he would deign to walk in, openly and oh so negligently.

But alas! That was not to be. The removal of Harry Potter had created an unforeseen element in his plans. Fudge had turned from pawn to unwitting queen, and of neither side at that. How it rankled. The Dark Lord had been stymied by the plebian plotting of a petulant pustule, as it were. And why was this so? It all came back to that accursed prophesy of course. _There was no help for it_. That nuisance of a woman Trelawney was still causing a mess long after she had spewed those cryptic words so long ago.

Unfortunately, the facts remained that he would have to do something about this himself. As a Dark Lord, he had to be seen as acting through proxy. A lord without servants is not a lord at all. And a lord that acts as if his servants are incompetent or untrustworthy, that he needs to do everything himself; well, that was a rather different kettle of fish wasn't it? _There was no help for it_ , but this— this bittersweet mockery of circumstance had conspired to put him in the position where he would have to act by himself whether he was accompanied or assisted by his minions or no.

He had a plan, originally. A beautifully complex plan that would be impossible to be foreseen by anyone. A masterpiece of ingenuity that would have required little to no action on his own, merely the competence of a few minions, and that too at the very end of that magnificent play. A way to use that scar that had ended his legend, a way to turn that mockery of defeat into his very triumph! But now, that plan was in shambles, and he wasn't even sure what he could do to salvage that, not when that boy had been removed so completely from the game.

And his other "loyal" servant was incapacitated as well. Pettigrew had been sent to replace his previous attempts, his animagus form supposedly an asset in getting that disproportionately important orb. And what did he have to show for it? Another servant lost to madness. It was pure luck that his body had been recovered at all. If that yet respiring corpse had been captured…. well, he had not been and the current situation was all the better for it.

In the end, he did not need to "rescue" his pet unspeakable, Rookwood to come to the conclusion that this was some work of fate. The mere presence of a prophesy all but ensured that. If only he had come to that conclusion sooner! He could have stepped through to his destiny himself, unremarked upon, unnoticed, an invisible blade that slipped by their unknowing necks and walked out with his prize. It would have been a magnificent display! A sign that their lord was the Slytherin he proclaimed to be! A cunning man! A devious man! And it was all to waste. Now all that there was, it could only befit a wretched thief.

 _There was no help for it_. He would have to go there himself.

He rolled his wand between his fingertips and sighed.

 _There was no help for it_ , he was going to make his way to London.

And he had so wanted to walk in triumphantly as a conqueror rather than as a thief.

 _There was no help for it._

He was the greatest Dark Lord and yet, _there was no bloody help for it_!

He idly shot a blasting curse that gave the room a new window and sighed.

 _There was no help for it_ , he repeated resignedly. He grimly mused that this phrase had somehow become representative of this ridiculous situation in its entirety.

His rage would be tempered by need for now. It was time for Lord Voldemort to once more walk the British Isles as his proper self.

Xxx

The ministry was dark and empty at night.

Hestia Jones clutched at her invisibility cloak numbly. She was waiting.

She may not have been sure what she was waiting for, but she was waiting.

It was her shift, and she had agreed to it, so she was stuck in this ill-fitting invisibility cloak playing guard to some dratted ball that some kook of a seer had no doubt cooked up while on his fifteenth shot of firewhiskey. Still, duty was duty, and her word was her word.

As she checked for what seemed to be the fiftieth time, she wondered if she should have bothered to join the Aurors. At least she would have been better paid than this.

The hours passed slowly. She could swear that she could feel the needles on the clock face dragging bit by mind numbing bit. At least a week back, she had seen the odd rat scurrying around. ("Really! What were the ministry wards for? Decoration?!") Now she wouldn't have minded any change of pace at all.

Perhaps it was the deep thought, or the rather morose atmosphere, but she took a few seconds to register the footsteps as they echoed in the silence. Somebody was coming!

Hestia looked at her watch and sighed. Looks like it wasn't going to be her shift replacement. She may have wished for action, but now, she wasn't so sure.

Of course, It was in that brief moment she took to bemoan her fate, that Voldemort stepped into the hallway she was in, looked at her still invisible self quizzically and began combat with a stunner that was more wave of power than spell.

Xxx

There was something to be said for pretending that combat was an afterthought, an appearance of prowess that declared its owner to be invincible. Voldemort may have given the appearance of putting forth his power in a disinterested fashion, but he was actually in the height of awareness. He was not so deluded as to believe that a this semi-skilled and frankly mediocre combatant was all that stood between him and his goals. Dumbledore was far too "wise" and cautious for that. There was no doubt hidden traps somewhere around here to trip him up. That was where his focus was. What could it be? Runic Fields? Transfiguration Traps? Potion Mines? It was exciting and exhilarating. Such a change from being cooped up in his throne room!

But as he walked forward, deflecting more and more desperate curses, Voldemort was getting worried. He had not seen anything yet. There were no traps. He was walking forward and he could see nothing. He could sense nothing. And he was not being attacked by anything save that deluded woman's occasional spells. Was it perhaps a trap tied into that woman's life force? A bit ruthless for Dumbledore perhaps, but not outside the realm of possibility. The greater good philosophy, was at its core, a policy of sacrificing the smallest number of assets for the greatest gains. And considering that Lily Potter had accomplished something similar, Dumbledore could not be incapable of such.

His steps were quickly eating away at the distance till that prophesy room, so he was running out of time to make his decisions. That girl was backing away even more frantically, with passably horrible spellwork. But then his standards were a bit high.

Voldemort took a quick moment to check for anyone else. Paranoid or not, there was no reason not to make that small check especially since this girl was not going to tax his skills.

As he pushed her back towards the Department of Mysteries proper though, he wondered why he was prolonging it. There was a point where giving the opponent a foolish hope turned into wasting both their time, and he was long past it. He sighed silently and increased his barrage, hemming the girl in between a poor imitation of fiendfire and a whirlwind of razor sharp ice shards.

Xxx

Things were not looking good, Hestia admitted to herself. In fact, they were completely and utterly bad. Here she was facing the most dangerous Dark Lord of the time (only Dark Lord, but this wasn't the time to quibble about that) and she was losing ground. Not only was she going to fail her mission, she would be dead as well. She was not exactly at Dumbledore's level. She was rapidly tiring even as her opponents expression went from gleeful to bored. She was dead, she just hadn't stopped breathing.

A carelessly cast curse went through her arm without any resistance. She muffled a cry. It was a piercer. The pain hit once she tried to move. She blinked a tear away even as she cast an explosion hex at the other man's feet. The resulting pause let her quickly run through a potions pouch. It was really useless as she expected. A spell numbed the arm, but without knowing true healing spells, she was not able to do more.

Tears rolled down her face. She was really too young to die. She was barely 26!. She still had not had a steady relationship. She hadn't even decided what to do for a living. Battling You -Know-Who was not how she imagined dying.

And then she looked at the last potion in her hand. It shone brightly in the fires of the battle. It had a golden hue. It was a birthday present from her mother(possibly hoping her daughter would finally find Mr. Right). It was something she had set aside for a rainy day. It was liquid luck. And she really needed all the luck she had and more.

Xxx

When Voldemort finally got tired of waiting for the girl to attack, he swept away the dust from that last explosion. It was a clever trick to be sure. He hadn't expected one of Dumbledore's pawns to try something sneaky like that. If she had aimed a little higher, he might even have been hit in the leg from sheer surprise. But it seemed that this was her limit; such a shame.

But what he wasn't expecting was for the hallway to be empty. He ran the possibilities through his head before he realized that the girl had finally done the sensible thing and gone inside the department. Was this something she had been told to do? He was not sure. Still, he was nothing if not capable. Let this girl try. He was almost amused at her stubbornness.

He strode in majestically through the doors. The round room was an interesting enchantment, but he had long known how to get past that. He walked in, waited for the room to stop spinning and counted clockwise from the opposite door. At the thirteenth count, he opened the door. It was as he knew it would be, the Hall of Prophesies.

He walked through the shelves, keeping an eye out for the girl. Since he was close to his end goal, he wasn't really concerned with whether she lived or died. He wasn't out to kill everyone, but one girl didn't matter. She was supposed to delay him, or stop him, and had realistically achieved neither. Once he heard the prophesy, he would decide whether to spare her, kill her now or kill her later.

He made his way through the shelves until he saw it.

There was a gap. The magically enchanted shelves had a gap in them! Somebody, and he knew ecactly who, had avoided touching the prophesy sphere and just plain taken the whole thing out, shelf and all.

He turned around and stalked through the room. His incandescent rage was something ordinary mortals could not comprehend. He overpowered a Point Me spell, twisting its purpose and magically empowering it with his rage until he saw where the girl was. And she was rushing back!

Voldemort flexed his magic. He turned incorporeal. He was now, for all purposes, a wraith. He shot up, ignoring the wards(something his followers could not do) and sped into the Atrium. He arrived between her and the exit. A flash of a spell sped past him. And she had missed anyway. He was not impressed.

"The sphere girl, hand It over, or we will see how I can take it from your miserable corpse!"

The girl was still frightened, he noted. And the tear tracks down her face were indicators of just how scary he was. Yet, he knew that she would resist. It was the set of her eyes, the way she trembled. This one was obviously a Gryffindor. It was almost nostalgic.

And she shook her head and took out a pouch.

"I-I'm not afraid of you!" she shouted and in a rather comical manoeuvre, she put the tip of her wand inside the pouch.

Voldemort was not too slow on the uptake. His own wand was up in a flash from its less threatening manner.

"IMPERIO!"

The curse was unfortunately too late.

The muffled boom of a bombarda and that was the end of his plots, his plans and now his mission. He stared incredulously at the triumphant looking slip of a girl and roared in anger. Magic whirled through the air, oppressively shattering all sorts of small objects and cracking the walls.

He raised his wand again and cast a spell. A green flash of light and then the girl was dead. Like a lifetime ago though, the moment seemed to stretch on forever. She was still crying he saw, but she was now smiling as well. He should have tortured her first. The prophesy was lost now thanks to some unwitting twit of a girl. He would now have to find something else to do. And he would have to speed up his timetable for dominion of the wizarding world. He turned around and froze.

Arrayed before him, and with more coming from the floo, were the employees of the Ministry of Magic. And before them all, in blue pyjamas, was a shocked looking Cornelius Fudge. He was flapping his gums, but soundless otherwise. In fact, none of the crowd was audible. And suddenly, he was struck by realization. That first spell he had dismissed was a silencing spell! The girl had silenced the whole area behind him, letting the witless fools gather up behind him as witnesses even as he was threatening the girl. Why hadn't he noticed the presence of the fools lined up there? He had been outsmarted by a mere woman, by Dumbledore's pawn no less! He swore silently. So much for keeping under notice.

But then again, he thought, mind churning furiously, the prophesy had not been heard, but Potter was not in play either. He could act out, because Potter was already out of the picture. So why exactly, was he stalling? And like the sun breaking out through the dark clouds, he felt most of his frustrations bleed away. He picked a target and cast a spell, grinning horridly. A killing curse, always a classic.

A block of stone rose from the floor and blocked the spell. He looked around and sure enough; "Dumbledore!" he snarled. And there he was, the meddling old man. A wave of a wand dispelled the silencing spell and then he stepped forward, shielding the hapless ministry workers behind him. Dumbledore looked equally furious and disappointed. He opened his mouth and paused, as if not sure what to say.

"Not today Tom." he finally said grimly, shaking his head slowly.

Voldemort snarled again. But he didn't attack. He just portkeyed away without another word. He was immortal. There was always tomorrow.

Xxx

Magical Britain woke the next day to a very different Daily Prophet. So it was that the 17th of March was a really bad day.

"THEY WERE RIGHT! HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED RETURNS!"

"MINISTER FUDGE RESIGNS! SCRIMENGOER APPOINTED INTERIM MINISTER!"

"HARRY POTTER MISSING!"

And perhaps the most ominous headline at the bottom of the page, thanks to some unusually competent deductive journalism and eavesdropping;

"IS HARRY POTTER THE CHOSEN ONE?"

There was not much rejoicing. It was just one of those days where nobody was happy, not even dark wizards. Really, the only people who were gleefully cheering were the media. They always loved scandals.

Xxx

Cornelius Fudge stared moodily at his fireplace, twirling a glass of Firewhiskey unconsciously. He just shook his head at the hilarity of it all. For all that he had plotted and planned, it had all become nothing.

Well, not quite nothing. He still had his money, his island and his life. It was he reflected, better than one of his famous ancestors had managed. Getting crucified and manually exsanguinated as a statement by the incumbent Dark Lord was not how he wanted the Fudge family to remembered for, again.

He was no longer the Minister of Magic, but then yesterday's headlines had seen to that. What was that man thinking? Revealing himself like that in public? Dark Lords were supposed to be competent, not just magically powerful. Even he knew little of exactly what had transpired day before yesterday, but He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been there for something, and that Jones girl had denied him. Dumbledore had, as usual, refused to clarify what had happened or why that girl was even in the ministry that night. And the emergency session of the Wizengamot had thrown him out as soon as legislatively possible. So he couldn't get any information even if he wanted to.

At least, now that they had their precious saviour back, they would forget about him. Dumbledore had already had the boy, he was sure There was no other way that Potter had disappeared mere hours after his ouster. It was a masterpiece of course, correctly guessing that all the actual measures that he had taken were intrinsically based on the fact that he was minister.

Of course, now that he thought about it, there was also the condition that no human could approach Potter to rescue him. But Dumbledore was practically known for his support of creatures. Merlin! Even that werewolf or that Half Giant could have gotten through at any time. Potter had actually been gone for months!

But how had Dumbledore found out, he asked himself before freezing. He suddenly recalled one of Lucius's offhanded comments, something about twinkling eyes being a sign of magic being used.

Of course Dumbledore used Legilimency! What had he been thinking! Any one of his collaborators among the ministry employees could have been the one to reveal the scheme. Dumbledore running around the ministry for Potter's sake hadn't been in vain at all had it? The bastard had completely outmanoeuvred him and he hadn't realized it even to the end! He shattered his glass against the wall and let out an enraged scream.

He panted as he vanished the glass. Calm; he had to be calm. Yes, he no longer had to deal with any of it. He had escaped that mad house with his life his money and his sanity intact. He was not angry, no, he was happy. That's right. He was glad of leaving. Wasn't that what he had set in motion in the first place? Ever since that blasted tournament, this was exactly what he had planned. So really, he had actually succeeded in his end goal…just not exactly as he had planned it.

In any case, wizarding Britain had less memory than a goldfish, especially now that they had their little blood war to focus on. He sarcastically toasted the health of Potter and Dumbledore and took a swig of Firewhiskey. If only that dark idiot hadn't appeared for a while longer. If this had happened just two weeks later, he could have finished liquidating his assets in Britain. Now he had three large properties still unsold, and he couldn't go back to finish the transaction. Still, he was happier here, on his own island, away from all the revenge seekers and fans, away from Dumbledore and You-Know-Who.

And away from Delores he added. Now there was somebody to _really_ fear.

In fact, his leaving Britain was for the best really. The public was in one of their moods. He was already under fire for arresting Potter. And now that the "light side" had been proven right, they would all be on his head about being a "blind idiot" What did they know?

Yes, best avoid Britain for a few years. Then he remembered the bit about the Prophesy business("really Rita, you couldn't have made up something a little more convincing?") Well, a few decades should let them cool down. If they blamed him for whatever horrors the boy had gone through? It was a good thing this island was unplottable and warded with almost the best that money could buy. That and obscurity would let him have his peace. And In the meantime, he was free to drink and be merry.

Another bottle of Firewhiskey made its way into his hands. He was no longer Minister, he told himself. He didn't have to pay heed to all the stuffy protocols that pureblood society demanded. A quick gulp and he smacked his lips. This was the good stuff right there. Let Scrimengoer lose his mind in that madhouse. He was personally going to enjoy being rich and free. A 45 hectare private island, investments with an annual return of 3000 galleons, an enchanted yacht(well, it was a 40s era ship that his great aunt had stolen from the muggles and left him when she died. He had been actually touched) filled with a few decades worth of personal comforts and a floo connection to the colonies. Yes, this was the life.

Xxx

Dumbledore sat in his office. For once, not even Fawkes singing could have uplifted his mood.

But then, there was nothing to be happy about was there?

Across him, Minerva McGonagall sat with pursed lips. Even in the bright light, and having a Phoenix within, the Hogwarts Headmaster's office lay shrouded in darkness.

Harry Potter was gone. Not even owls or Fawkes could tell where he was. It was…disquieting.

And with Fudge gone, they had no idea where or how he was now. In hindsight, evicting that man in that torrent of righteous wrath may have condemned their hope once and for all. But how was anyone to know that Fudge had lied about Harry's location?

They should have expected it of course. When Fudge had told Dumbledore that he had taken precautions, he didn't expect the ex-minister to pull off something like this. How had he even managed it? And where was the boy now?

Those questions would be unanswered of course.

Voldemort did not have Harry; that much they were assured of.

Azkaban did not have Harry; that much they had personally confirmed.

And the Order had lost Harry; that much they were all too aware of.

"Headmaster, what do we do?"

Albus lifted his weary face and sighed.

"What we must Minerva… What we must."

AN:

Things are heating up. Harry is no longer known. He's disappeared and nobody knows where he is. Of course, people are taking it differently. The order is tearing their hair out in worry and imagine fudge did it. Fudge is bitter about losing money and having to exile himself in unplanned fashion and blames dumbledore for being the chessmaster and voldemort for being a patience less maverick(of sorts). Voldemort himself is eager to find Harry to kill him, angry at Dumbledore for getting in his way and angry at fudge for playing at competence. Yes, things are all messed up. Harry's psyche has not left azkaban and shows its scars….in the next chapter.

On to other characters!

Hestia is a happy go lucky girl who ends up dealing a blow for the light…because of sheer dumb luck. And she died, which I'm sad about, but was inevitable. You don't survive fighting alone and trapped while facing overachieving lich murder machines, unless you literally have a prophesy on your side

Lucius is trapped between his service to the dark, and his family. No, I'm not going to do a redemption arc.

Fudge's stuff aka retirement stash:

An island next door to Barbados with plus sized mansion, a house elf and plenty of coconuts. Family property. 45 hectares ( about 84 American football fields or the size of Vatican City). Currently occupied.

3 unsold properties in Britain and Europe, collectively valued at 24,000 galleons. Currently in limbo, unable to sell without Fudge's presence.

Investments to the tune of 34,500 galleons, giving a return of 2400 galleons in the previous financial year. Currently active, returns added to the Fudge account in Gringotts.

The _Marionette_ 1936 Dutch Fishing Trawler 52 x 7m. Presumed lost in Atlantic storm, 1940. "Acquired" by Esmerelda Woodthorpe nee Fudge, 1940. Enchanted as a magical yacht by Goblin employed warders, 1940. Transferred to Cornelius Fudge after death of owner in Death Eater raid, 1979. Currently moored to Unnamed island near Barbados owned by Cornelius Fudge. Currently stocked for long term travel and luxury. Requires ward maintenance in 48 months.


End file.
